Roll to Me

Chapter 7

Akemi woke with a start, sitting up in bed, her heart thundering. She couldn't remember what she had been dreaming about, but there were tears on her cheeks. Roughly she brushed her palm against her face, trying to get the lingering feelings of fear and lose to go away.

Usually when she had a nightmare, her dad was either automatically there or he woke up the instant she got to his door. He always seemed to know. She wondered if he still felt like something was off, miles away.

"Are you all right?"

Akemi wrapped her arms around her legs, squishing her blanket. "Yep. I'm great. Go back to sleep."

"You didn't sound all right. You were crying. Are you still crying?"

"Not really, not anymore," Akemi said. She wiped away the last of the tears and peered into the darkness. Moriko's eyes caught the dim light from outside. "Sorry if I woke you up."

Moriko nodded. "According to the Sleep Foundation, twenty percent of children ages six to twelve have frequent nightmares. I looked it up earlier this year."

"Okay...?" Akemi took a deep breath, still struggling with how unsettled she felt.

"I mean to say, you shouldn't feel bad about it or embarrassed." A flashlight beam nearly blinded Akemi, but Moriko quickly pointed it at the ceiling and balanced it on her bedstand table. It filled the room with a muted glow. "Twenty percent is a relatively large number. I also have them, which is why I was doing research."

All of the talk about data and research and numbers was odd but somehow comforting in how weird it was. Akemi loosened her grip on her legs. "Can you remember yours? Your bad dreams?"

"No." Moriko sounded frustrated. "I don't usually wake up crying, but sometimes I scream and I can't go back to sleep. Do you remember your nightmares?"

Akemi shook her head. "I can almost remember them right when I wake up but then they're gone. It's like, I dunno, grabbing smoke from a candle."

"Eloquent." Moriko slid off her bed, slipped her feet into a pair of slippers, and padded her way over to Akemi's bed. She brushed at the covers like she was getting rid of dust before she sat down on the edge. "That was actually rather poetic. A pleasant surprise."

"Thanks, I guess," Akemi said. She straightened one leg. "What're you doing?"

"I didn't feel like you wanted to be alone," Moriko said. Shifting back, she suddenly looked uncertain, her eyes darting back to her own bed. "Was I wrong?"

"No, no," Akemi said, "I just wasn't sure—" She stalled, unsure of whether to call Moriko out on her standoffish attitude. Just because she wasn't outgoing didn't mean she was wrong. Just different. "I didn't think you liked me. That's why we're here, because we don't get along."

"I'm considering changing my mind." Moriko put her hands in her lap.

Akemi pushed away the blankets and crawled over to sit next to Moriko. "Why? Because we play the same string game?"

"Because we've been trapped in the same cabin for four days, and you're not quite as awful as I first thought." Moriko frowned at the floor. "You might not be awful at all. I apologize. I'm not good with people."

"I couldn't tell," Akemi mumbled. She regretted it when Moriko's shoulders drew up. "I didn't mean that. Well... I just—you sort of push people away."

"I don't mean to," Moriko said. "It just happens. And I suppose it's easier to distance myself before they create the distance."

Akemi set her feet on the floor. The wooden floorboards were cool against her skin. "Your cabinmates seemed to want to be friends with you, but I don't see you hang out with them very much."